Darkness Before Dawn (13 page)

“Hey, Heather, before you go—” Paul interjected, stopping her with not only his voice
but with a light touch.

“Yes, doctor.”

“Since you mentioned my car, I’d love to run it through the paces for you say—Saturday.
You know that’s tomorrow night. Now, I’ve checked and you don’t have to work.”

Trying hard not to sound too excited, Heather replied, “If the ride includes dinner,
I might be convinced.”

“How ’bout a show, too?”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she answered, laughing. “Why not?”

“I’ll get hold of you this afternoon and we’ll decide a time.” He shot her a huge
smile as he walked off.

Turning so that Paul wouldn’t see the flush on her cheeks or the ever-brightening
smile on her face, Heather headed off to get a bucket of ice. Assured now, that for
her, this would be a good weekend.

F
OR THE REMAINDER OF THE DAY
, H
EATHER
’
S ETERNALLY HAPPY VOICE
seemed to bring a glow to every room on the wing. Meanwhile, Meg was anything but
a positive force. As the day dragged on, she become even more burdened by thoughts
of how slow the wheels of justice were going to turn, wondering if they would ever
turn at all. At the moment it seemed the odds were against her finding satisfaction
through the legal system. The Thomas family simply had too much power in this town
and she got the idea Webb Jones didn’t want to challenge that power. After all, didn’t
he suggest she let the family buy her off? Therefore, she was probably going to have
to find a way to extract her own brand of justice. Yet, how could she act? What could
she do? What power did she have to call on?

Last night, after an evening with Heather, she felt empowered. But as the night went
on and she confronted the task she faced, her sense of power faded. When she woke
up sick to her stomach, she lost all her confidence. Sitting in front of her commode,
she had felt weak, alone, and frightened. And that sense of helplessness had now worked
its way into everything she had done on this day. Yet as much as she didn’t like dealing
with patients or even the other staff members, it was better
than being home. She absolutely dreaded going through a second weekend without Steve.
As long as this day had been, she knew the next forty-eight hours would seem like
an eternity. And as the minutes slowly moved that reality closer, she sank deeper
and deeper into despair. Yes, walking the halls, cleaning bedpans, and listening to
complaining patients were better than being in her lonely apartment.

As Meg and Heather were checking out, two more nurses, Jan Greer and Molli Cassle
were waiting to check in. Like all veterans, they knew that Friday and Saturday nights
often presented problems and people who would test both their knowledge and their
patience. It just seemed the weekend brought out the worst in people and that kept
the emergency room hopping.

“I’d give anything not to work this weekend,” Jan stated to everyone and no one.

“Who wouldn’t?” Molli tossed back. “Did you see there’s a full moon?”

Heather couldn’t help but gloat a little. “Well, while you two are slaving away, bandaging
heads and tossing out pills, I’ll be sitting by a fire, being held in the arms of
the ever suave and handsome Paul Mason.”

Heather was sure her statement would bring out some type of jealous remark from the
two nurses. She was partially right.

“He’s one heck of a good lookin’ man,” sighed Jan.

Meanwhile Molli seemed caught between silence and a full-blown confession. When she
spoke, she opted for something in between. “I’ve been out with him a few times.” Jan
and Heather both turned toward her. Still seemingly unsure of just how to put what
she wanted to say, she continued. “And in person, the good doctor is a whole lot like
he is in surgery.”

Jan started to grin, but poor innocent Heather, a confused look on her face, just
walked right through the door Molli had opened.

“How’s that?” she inquired.

“Oh, Heather,” Molli laughed, “Paul is such a fast operator. I hope you know how to
handle yourself, because if you don’t, he certainly will.”

Heather blushed a bright shade of red, Jan and Molli turned toward the wall so their
giggles would go largely unnoticed, and Meg, now finished with her count, remained
oblivious to everything. Well, almost everything! While she waited for Heather to
complete her part of the count, Meg walked over to where Jan and Molli were sharing
an inside joke. Not waiting for them to finish, she said, “Listen, I’ll work somebody’s
shift this weekend, if one of you would rather go out or something. “

“Saturday evening?” Molli quickly inquired, not wanting to take a chance that Jan
might jump before her.

“Sure,” Meg answered.

“You wouldn’t want to work Sunday night, too, would you?” Jan asked.

“Anything to keep me busy and away from home,” Meg responded. Turning back toward
Heather, she asked, “Are you done yet?”

“Yeah, just got it.” Heather answered. “I’m out of here.” The words had no more cleared
her mouth when she grabbed her coat and hit the door.

Turning back to the other two, Meg nodded. “I’ll get it cleared with the head nurse’s
office. If there are any problems, I’ll tell you.” A small smile couldn’t mask her
solemn expression as she disappeared around the corner.

W
EEKEND WORK COULD BE A REAL PAIN, ESPECIALLY THE LATE SHIFT
. Y
ET
, for Meg, just having something to do seemed like a blessing. Still this blessing
had a price. Sunday night she was dog-tired and actually grateful she had the late
shift on Monday. Too weary to mourn her loss or even plan revenge on Steve’s killer,
she dropped off to sleep almost as soon as she hit the bed. She remained dead to the
world until a familiar noise invaded her dreams. At first, she thought it was her
alarm, but when she clumsily hit the snooze button the noise only momentarily stopped.
Then it came back again louder than ever. Slowly sitting up and rubbing her eyes,
she finally recognized the ringing of her telephone. Dropping back down on her bed,
too tired and too disoriented to be curious, she decided to wait it out and go back
to sleep. “They’ll call back,” she mumbled to her pillow. Sure enough, a few minutes
later, they did.

“Okay. Okay. I’m coming,” she yelled, as she untangled herself from her sheet and
staggered into the living room. She glanced at the clock. It was 10:30 a.m. After
clearing her throat, she picked up the receiver and answered, “Hello.”

“Mrs. Richards?”

“Yes, this is Meg Richards.”

“I’m Cheryl Bednarz with the district attorney’s office. Mr. Jones would like to talk
to you for a moment. Do you have the time?”

Finding the arm of the couch, Meg dropped onto it, pushed her hair out of her face,
and, her voice trembling, answered, “Sure.”

“It’ll be just a moment,” and then the sounds of some nondescript elevator-type music
filled the receiver. For almost three minutes, Meg listened impatiently to a string
version of “Honky Tonk Man,” followed by part of an equally unsettling rendition of
“Stand by Your Man.”

“Who in their right mind picked those tunes?” Meg groaned.

“Mrs. Richards?” Webb Jones’s voice broke into the song. “Did you say something?”

“Not really.” Meg’s heart raced as she attempted to cover her embarrassment. “Has
something happened on the case?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m calling about.” After pausing for a short moment, the district
attorney continued. “The Thomas kid has been certified as an adult in the justice
of peace court. That happened yesterday afternoon. Normally things don’t work this
fast, but as the grand jury met this morning, I went ahead and presented them with
the information we had already put together. After all, it seemed pretty open-and-shut
to me. They must have thought so, too, because they asked for an indictment. By the
end of the day, I’ll issue a warrant for the boy’s arrest.”

Meg’s heart almost leaped from her chest. She had hoped Jones would act fast and that
Jim Thomas would be arrested and put behind bars, but because of his family’s power
she’d begun to doubt that would really happen. Now, maybe justice would allow her
to extract her revenge in the proper way. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm
her excitement, she asked, “Does this mean that he’s going to be in jail?”

“Not really,” Jones answered. “He will be arrested, bail will be set, and I’m sure
that his family will post bail. He’ll be out until the trial or until we settle this
with a plea bargain.”

Disappointment showing in her voice, she shot back, “No bargain. He has to be convicted.
When is the trial going to be?”

“We’ll meet with his attorneys and Judge Truett later in the week, and a date will
be set then. I’m betting the Thomas family’s legal team will want to take care of
this thing in a hurry in order to get it out of the news and buried. So I figure a
month, maybe six weeks. Until that time, we’ll just wait. Believe me, the waiting
will be worse for Thomas than for us.” As Jones completed his sentence, his intercom
buzzer sounded. “Mrs. Richards, I’m going to put you on hold for just a second. I’ll
be right back.”

As he pushed the hold button, the sounds of “Cold, Cold Heart” came over the receiver,
this time a small ensemble of flutes was miserably trying to twang. Why do people
think music is such a wonderful way to pass time while on hold? Silence would be so
much better. Trying to ignore the Hank Williams tune, she looked out the window. The
sun had just broken through the clouds and a brightness she hadn’t seen in weeks filled
the snowy streets. In a strange sort of way, a way she couldn’t describe, Meg felt
really good. It wasn’t getting-a-new-car good or winning-the-lottery-good, but it
was still a hopeful kind of good that, as she waited on Jones, grew into a euphoric
state that led to a strange sort of peace.

“Mrs. Richards,” the voice that had come back on the line belonged to the woman who
had first placed the call. “Mr. Jones extends his apology but an emergency just called
him out of the office. I’ll be happy to answer any other questions you might have.
As assistant district attorney, I’m very familiar with the case.”

Meg had assumed that Cheryl Bednarz was a secretary, not a lawyer, and this new information
stunned her a little. The woman sounded so young. After coming to grips with her misunderstanding,
Meg turned her mind back to the reason for the call. There was something she needed
to know. Unable to find what seemed like the perfect words to pose the question, she
bluntly and awkwardly inquired what had been on her mind and heart since the first
time she’d driven by the Thomas’s palatial home. “Can we get him?” After the words
tumbled out, she felt like she had just delivered a stock line from a 1940s crime
movie. Why hadn’t she put it another way?

“If you mean the Thomas boy,” Bednarz’s voice was reassuringly calm, “I haven’t talked
to Mr. Jones to get his opinion, but in my mind I think we can. The evidence seems
to be very substantial. Of course, there are no guarantees, Mrs. Richards. I want
you to know that if Mr. Thomas decides to plead not guilty, the actual proceedings
might be pretty hard on you. A lot of times a defense attorney will put the victim
on trial. It can get pretty rough.”

“I’ve already lost my husband.” Meg’s tone filled with resolve as she continued, “I
can do anything it takes to get his killer.”

“Mrs. Richards, did Mr. Jones give you the charges on which we’ll be trying the defendant?”
The assistant district attorney’s tone indicated she seemed to believe Meg already
had the facts.

“No, I just thought it would be . . .”

Ms. Bednarz broke in before Meg could finish. “It’s vehicular homicide, reckless driving,
and DUI. That means driving under the influence of alcohol or drugs. In this case
alcohol.”

This couldn’t be. It was not right at all. Leaning back in the couch she glanced back
over at a photo of Steve. He’d been killed just as surely as if he’d been shot with
a gun. His life had literally been snuffed out. Shaking her head, she took a deep
breath and asked, “Not murder?”

“We can’t do it that way in this state,” the woman explained. “Not on a DUI.”

Pausing to consider this new turn, Meg suddenly felt deflated. The euphoric feeling
was gone. This was not nearly enough.

“If he’s found guilty, how much will he get?” Meg demanded.

“Well,” the assistant district attorney explained, “there are a number of variables.
But if the sentencing were to go to the harsh side, considering Thomas’s age, we could
expect maybe ten years, with most, if not all, to be served while he was on probation.”

“That’s all?” Meg’s voice had fallen to a disbelieving whisper.

“Under the circumstances, I’m afraid that is it. Juries and judges are not known in
this state for dealing out long prison terms for those who have combined alcohol and
a car to make a lethal weapon. It has been a very frustrating situation for me, but
I’ll do my best to make this case different.”

“Ms. Bednarz . . .”

“Please call me Cheryl.”

“Cheryl,” Meg continued, “Steve meant everything to me. He hadn’t lived much of his
life. He was a good man . . . a wonderful man. You can’t begin to imagine how much
he didn’t get to do. We had so many things planned. He never even got to hold his
children.” She stopped as tears stung her eyes.

For a few minutes, an awkward silence fell upon the conversation before Cheryl’s compassionate
voice filled the receiver. “I know that he was cheated out of a lot and so were you.
But in some ways maybe it’s better that you don’t have any children. It can be very
hard explaining to a child a tragedy that even you and I can’t even fully understand.”

“I don’t think you know what I mean,” Meg, tears now running down and falling from
her face, whispered. “You see, I’m pregnant.”